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LAYS 



LOVE AND FAITH. 



OTHER FUGITIVE POEMS. 



BY 



GEO. W. BETHUNE. 






PHILADELPHIA: 

LINDSAY AND BLAKISTON. 

1848. 






' 



Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1847, 

By Lindsay & Blakiston, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



C. SHERMAN, PRINTER, 

1!) St. James Street. 



As one arranges in a simple vase, 

A little store of unpretending flowers, 

So gathered I some records of past hours, 
And trust them, gentle reader, to thy grace ; 
Nor hope that in my pages thou wilt trace 

The brilliant proof of high poetic powers ; 
But dear memorials of my happy days, 

When Heaven shed blessings on my heart, like showers 
Clothing with beauty ev'n the desert place ; 
Till I, with thankful gladness in my looks, 

Turned me to God, sweet nature, loving friends, 
Christ's little children, well-worn ancient books, 

The charm of art, the rapture music sends : 
And sang away the grief that on man's lot attends. 



CONTENTS. 



Sonnet to the Reader, - 

Invocation, - - - - - -13 

To my Mother, - - - - - - 16 

To my Wife, ...... 20 

I loved thee when in earlier years, - - - - 23 

Far over Helle's rapid wave, .... 25 

Cling to thy Mother, - - - - - 26 

Live to do good, ...... 29 

Music in the Heart, - - - - - - 31 

Mary, ....... 33 

Susie, - - - - - - -85 

Early Lost, Early Saved, - - - - 37 

"Of such is the kingdom of heaven," - - - -41 

Anemones, - - - - - - 13 

Violets, - - - - - - - I") 

F know not' that thou'rt beautiful, ... 47 

To a Young Friend, - - - - - -49 



vi CONTENTS. 

Lines on Leaving the Manor-House, Albany, - - 53 

let me gaze into thine eyes, - - • .54 

Night Study, ...... 58 

T'was on a blessed morning, - - - - 61 

" To be or not to be," ..... 66 

Lines after a Visit to Laurel Hill, - - - - 67 

To my Friend's Bride, with a Bible, ... 69 

There is a nobler strife than clashing spears, - - 73 

Hymn to Night, - 74 

Song — I lately plucked an opening rose, - - - 77 

Song of the Rhinelander, - - - - 78 

Spare the Birds, - - - - - - 80 

Words for Music, - - - - - 83 

Patriotic Hymn, - - - - - 85 

The Fourth of July, ..... 87 

Song — My Country, oh ! my Country, - - 92 

I see thee sweetly smile, .... 94 

I have no heart to sing, - - - 96 

She's fresh as breath of summer morn, - - 98 

of the Tee-total ler, - - - - - 100 

Songs in the Scottish Dialect. 

sing to me the auld Scotch sangs, - - 102 

1 hae a cup o' gude red wine, - - - 104 
O happy was the gloamin' when, - - - 106 

Sonnet, on a Picture of the Magdalene Asleep, - - 109 

Translation of Zappi's Sonnet on Raffaellc's Portrait, - 110 



CONTENTS. v ji 

Translation from Catullus, - - - - - 111 

from Tibullus, - - - - 113 

from Horace, Ode I. 38, - - - 118 

Epigrams, Translated. 

On Venus Armed, - - - - 119 

On a Portrait, - - - - - 119 

Go, Robber, past, - - - - 119 

Epigrams, Original. 

Mortuae, - - - - - - 120 

Infideli, - - - - - 121 

In imaginem puellse, - - - - 121 

On a Malicious Person, - - - - 121 

Epigrams, Religious. 

On a wayside Fountain, - - - - 1 22 

Hebrews iv. 9, - - - - - 122 

Hebrews iv. 10, - - - - - 122 

Philippians ii. 12, 13, - - - 123 

Lux in Tenebris, Tenebrae in Luce, - - - 123 

Version of Psalm IX., ..... 124 

XIX., 128 

xxnr., . - - - 131 

CXXVI., 133 

CXXXVII., - - . 13f, 

Translation of an Ancient Greek Chaunt, - - - 137 

Hymn from Noval is, ..... 189 

Hymn from the French, - - - - - ill 



viii CONTENTS. 

Christmas Carols for Sunday School Children. 

The Almighty Spirit, - - - - 143 

Joy and gladness, - - - - 146 

Full many a year hath sped, - - - 149 

We come, we come, - - - - 152 

Hymn for the Opening of the Orphan Asylum Chapel, Bloom- 

ingdale, - - - - - 154 

Hymn for Easter, - - - - - - 156 

Prayer for the Spirit, - - - - 158 

Lines written in Sickness, - - - - 160 

Prayer — 1 Cor. xiii. - - - - - 162 

" Alone, yet not Alone," - - - - - 166 

Sailor's Hymn, - - - - - - 168 

Missionary Hymn, - - - - - - 170 

Joy of Angels, - - - - - 172 

Christ at the Well of Sychar, - - - - 174 

Christ Washing the Disciples' Feet, - - - 176 

O that the soul of Luther, - - - - - 179 

Sabbath Evening, • - - - - 182 



POEMS. 



INVOCATION. 

Hushed is their song; — from long-frequented grove, 

Pale Memory, are thy bright-eyed daughters gone ; 
No more in strains of melody and love, 

Gush forth thy sacred waters, Helicon ; 
Prostrate on Egypt's plain, Aurora's son, 

God of the sunbeam and the living lyre, 
No more shall hail thee with mellifluous tone ; 

Nor shall thy Pythia, raving from thy fire, 
Speak of the future sooth to those who thee inquire. 

No more at Delos, or at Delphi now, 

Or even at mighty Amnion's Lybiitn shrine, 

2 



14 INVOCATION. 

The white-robed priests before the altar bow, 
To slay the victim and to pour the wine, 

While gifts of kingdoms round each pillar twine ; 
Scarce can the classic pilgrim, sweeping free 

From fallen architrave the desert vine, 
Trace the dim names of their divinity — 

Gods of the ruined temples, where, oh ! where are ye ? 

The Naiad bathing in her crystal spring, 

The guardian Nymph of every leafy tree, 
The rushing iEolus on viewless wing, 

The flower-crowned Queen of every cultured lea, 
And He who walked with monarch-tread the sea, 

The awful Thunderer, threatening them aloud, 
GOD ! were their vain imaginings of Thee, 

Who saw thee only through the illusive cloud 
That sin had flung around their spirits like a shroud. 

As fly the shadows of uncertain night, 

On misty vapours of the early day, 
When bursts o'er earth the sun's resplendent light, 

Fantastic visions, they have passed away, 



INVOCATION. 15 

Chased by the purer Gospel's orient ray. 

My soul's bright waters flow from out thy throne, 
And on my ardent breast thy sunbeams play ; 

Fountain of thought ! True Source of light ! I own, 
In joyful strains of praise, thy sovereign power alone. 

breathe upon my soul thy Spirit's fire, 

That I may glow like seraphim on high, 
Or rapt Isaiah kindling o'er his lyre ; — 

And sent by thee let holy Hope be nigh, 
To fill with prescient joy my ravished eye, 

And gentle Love to tune each jarring string 
Accordant with the heavenly harmony ; 

Then upward borne, on Faith's aspiring wing, 
The praises of my God to listening earth I sing. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

My mother ! Manhood's anxious brow 

And sterner cares have long been mine ; 
Yet turn I fondly to thee now, 
As when upon thy bosom's shrine 
My infant griefs were gently hushed to rest, 
And thy low-whispered prayers my slumbers blest. 

I never call that gentle name, 

My mother ! but I am again 
E'en as a child; the very same 

That prattled at thy knee ; and fain 
Would I forget, in momentary joy, 
That I no more can be thy happy boy ; 

Thine artless boy, to whom thy smile 
Was sunshine, and thy frown sad night ; 



TO MY MOTHER. 17 

(Though rare that frown, and brief the while 
It veiled from me thy loving light ;) 
For well-conned task, ambition's highest bliss 
To win from th y approving lips a kiss. 

I've lived through foreign lands to roam, 

And gazed on many a classic scene ; 
But oft the thought of that dear home, 
Which once was ours, would intervene, 
And bid me close again my languid eye, 
To think of thee, and those sweet days gone by. 

That pleasant home of fruits and flowers, 

Where by the Hudson's verdant side, 
My sisters wove their jasmine bowers, 
And he we loved, at eventide 
Would hastening come, from distant toil to bless 
Thine and his children's radiant happiness ! 

Those scenes are fled ; the rattling car 
O'er flint-paved streets profanes the spot, 

Where in the sod we sowed the " Star 
Of Bethlehem" and "Forget-me-not;" 
2* 



18 TO MY MOTHER. 

Oh ! Wo to Mammon's desolating reign, 
We ne'er shall find on earth a home again ! 

I've pored o'er many a yellow page 

Of ancient wisdom, and have won, 

Perchance, a scholar's name ; yet sage 

Or poet ne'er have taught thy son 

Lessons so pure, so fraught with holy truth, 

As those his mother's faith shed o'er his youth. 

If e'er through grace my God shall own 

The offerings of my life and love, 
Methinks, when bending close before his throne, 
Amid the ransomed hosts above, 
Thy name on my rejoicing lips shall be, 
And I will bless that grace for heaven and thee ! 

For thee and heaven ; for thou didst tread 

The way that leads to that blest land ; 
My often wayward footsteps led, 

By thy kind words and patient hand ; 
And when I wandered far, thy faithful call 
Restored my soul from sin's deceitful thrall. 



TO MY MOTHER. 19 

I have been blest with other ties, 



Fond ties and true, yet never deem 
That I the less thy fondness prize. 
No, mother ! in the warmest dream 
Of answered passion, through this heart of mine, 
One chord will vibrate to no name but thine ! 

Mother ! thy name is widow ; well 

I know no love of mine can fill 
The waste place of thy heart, nor dwell 
Within one sacred recess ; still, 
Lean on the faithful bosom of thy son, 
My parent ! thou art more — my only one ! 



TO MY WIFE. 

Afar from thee, the morning breaks, 

But morning brings no joy to me ; 
Alas ! my spirit only wakes 

To know I am afar from thee ; 
In dreams I saw thv blessed face, 

And thou wert nestled on my breast ; 
In dreams I felt thy fond embrace, 

And to mine own thy heart was pressed. 

Afar from thee ! 'Tis solitude, 

Though smiling crowds around me be, 

The kind, the beautiful, the good, 
For I can only think of thee ; 

Of thee, the kindest, loveliest, best, 
My earliest and my only one ; 



TO MY WIFE. 21 

Without thee, I am all unblest, 
And wholly blest with thee alone. 

Afar from thee ! The words of praise 

My listless ear unheeded greet ; 
What sweetest seemed in better days, 

Without thee seems no longer sweet : 
The dearest joy fame can bestow, 

Is in thy moistened eye to see, 
And in thy cheek's unusual glow, 

Thou deem'st me not unworthy thee. 

Afar from thee ! The night is come, 

But slumbers from my pillow flee ; 
I cannot rest so far from home, 

And my heart's home is, love, with thee ! 
I kneel before the throne of prayer, 

And then I know that thou art nigh, 
For God, who seeth everywhere, 

Bends on us both his watchful eye. 

Together in His loved embrace, 
No distance can our hearts divide ; 



22 TO MY WIFE. 

Forgotten quite the mediate space, 
I kneel thy kneeling form beside ; 

My tranquil frame then sinks to sleep, 
But soars the spirit far and free ; 

O welcome be night's slumbers deep, 
For then, dear love, I am with thee. 



T O . 

I loved thee when in earlier years, 

Thy pulse with health beat high, 
And none but childhood's passing tears 

Had wet thy gentle eye ; 
Ere pain had set its sign upon 

That fair and open brow, 
While through thy cheek the warm blood shone, 

Like summer's sunset glow. 

But now that pulse is faint and weak, 

Or flushed with hectic fire ; 
And wan and pale that once bright cheek, 

Which fed my young desire. 
Long suffering's trace is on thy brow, 

And dim though sweet thine eye ; 



24 TO . 

But thou art dearer to me now, 
Than e'er in years gone by. 

Yes ! dearer e'en than when I heard, 

In low and murmuring tone, 
From thee the one confiding word, 

That made thee all my own : 
Yes, lovelier art thou now to me, 

Than when in beauty's pride, 
I blessed thee for thy constancy, 

And clasped thee as my bride. 

Fade as thou wilt, thy spirit seems 

Purer within to shine ; 
And through that smile it ever beams 

Its loveliness on mine. 
My only one ! so close I've worn 

Thee to my fearful heart, 
That when from me away thou'rt torn, 

Its strings must rend apart. 



TO . 

Far over Helle's rapid wave. 

From Sestos' temple height, 
Young Hero's lamp sweet promise gave, 

Through the dark, stormy night ; 
Leander saw — his fearless breast 

Dashed through the rushing tide, 
To win her welcome to his rest 

From peril, by her side. 

Thus has thy true love been to me 

The hope that led me on, 
A star upon life's troubled sea, 

When other lights were gone ; 
Cheerful through all the strife I press. 

So that I see the while 
My meed and earnest of success, 

In thy fond faithful smile. 
8 



CLING TO THY MOTHER! 

Cling to thy mother ; for she was the first 
To know thy being, and to feel thy life ; 

The hope of thee through many a pang she nurst; 
And when, 'midst anguish like the parting strife, 

Her babe was in her arms, the agony 

Was all forgot, for bliss of loving thee. 

Be gentle to thy mother ; long she bore 
Thine infant fretfulness and silly youth ; 

Nor rudely scorn the faithful voice that o'er 

Thy cradle prayed, and taught thy lispings truth. 

Yes, she is old ; yet on thine adult brow 

She looks, and claims thee as her child e'en now. 

Uphold thy mother; close to her warm heart 
She carried, fed thee, lulled thee to thy rest ; 



CLINGTOTHYMOTHER. 27 

Then taught thy tottering limbs their untried art, 

Exulting in the fledgling from her nest : 
And, now her steps are feeble, be her stay, 
Whose strength was thine in thy most feeble day. 

Cherish thy mother ; brief perchance the time 
May be, that she will claim the care she gave ; 

Past are her hopes of youth, her harvest prime 
Of joy on earth ; her friends are in the grave : 

But for her children, she could lay her head 

Gladly to rest among her precious dead. 

Be tender with thy mother ; words unkind, 
Or light neglect from thee, will give a pang 

To that fond bosom, where thou art enshrined 
In love unutterable, more than fang 

Of venomed serpent.* Wound not that strong trust, 

As thou wouldst hope for peace when she is dust. 

O mother mine ! God grant I ne'er forget, 
Whatever be my grief, or what my joy, 

* " How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
To have a thankless child I' 1 — LbaB. 



28 CLING TO THY MOTHER. 

The unmeasured, unextinguishable debt 

I owe thy love ; but make my sweet employ, 
Ever through thy remaining days to be 
To thee as faithful, as thou wert to me. 



LIVE TO DO GOOD. 

Live to do good ; but not with thought to win 
From man return of any kindness done ; 

Remember Him who died on cross for sin, 
The merciful, the meek, rejected One ; 

When He was slain for crime of doing good, 

Canst thou expect return of gratitude ? 

Do good to all ; but while thou servest best, 
And at thy greatest cost, nerve thee to bear, 

When thine own heart with anguish is opprest, 
The cruel taunt, the cold averted air, 

From lips which thou hast taught in hope to pray, 

And eyes whose sorrows thou hast wiped away. 

Still do thou good; but for His holy sake 
Who died for thine; fixing thy purpose ever 
3* 



30 LIVETODOGOOD. 

High as His throne no wrath of man can shake ; 

So shall He own thy generous endeavour, 
And take thee to His conqueror's glory up, 
When thou hast shared the Saviour's bitter cup. 

Do nought but good ; for such the noble strife 
Of virtue is, 'gainst wrong to venture love, 

And for thy foe devote a brother's life, 
Content to wait the recompense above ; 

Brave for the truth, to fiercest insult meek, 

In mercy strong, in vengeance only weak. 



MUSIC IN THE HEART. 

" A simple race, they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile." — Scott. 

'Tis not in hope to win 
The world's vain smile, that thus I frequent pour 
My artless song ; — 'tis that the cup runs o'er — 

I cannot keep within 
The gushing thoughts that struggle to have way. 
Flowing in unpremeditated lay. 

The rock, struck by the rod, 
Shed streams of gladness on the desert plain, 
So from my ruder heart flows forth the strain, 

Touched by thy grace, O God ! 
The saddest day has lost its gloom for me, 
If I may sing at eventide to Thee. 



32 MUSIC IN THE HEART. 

Thou, who the bird has taught 
Its tune, the brook to gurgle, and the breeze 
To make sweet music with the forest trees, 

Within my soul hast wrought 
The charm divine, to cheer me on my way 
To that bright world where angels sing for aye. 

Mine is no lofty lyre, 
Nor lute voluptuous, — nor the poet's meed 
Of laurel crown ; — a simple pastor's reed 

Responds my meek desire 
To breathe, obscure from men, into thine ear, 
My God, the strain which they would scorn to hear. 

Yet, if its numbers might 
Win back unto thy fold some wandering sheep, 
Or bid some pilgrim sad forget to weep, 

I shall have rich delight ; 
Nor need to envy then the proudest name 
That stands emblazoned on the roll of fame. 



MARY. 

I've been thinking of thee, 
Till, like a melody, 
Ran the sweet thoughts to me 
"Mary! Mary!" 

My heart sings like a bird, 
At sound of that sweet word, 
The sweetest ever heard : 

"Mary! Mary!" 

As o'er and o'er again 

I am murmuring the strain, 

Still echoes the refrain : 

"Mary! Mary!" 



34 MARY. 



In the hush of midnight deep, 
When I sink to tranquil sleep, 
On my lips the charm I keep : 

"Mary! Mary!" 

Then in. dreams I quickly glide 
To thy dear faithful side, 
My love, my joy, my pride : 
"Mary! Mary!" 



SUSIE. 

What shall I liken thee to, Susie ? 
What shall I liken thee to ? 
What so sweet and so fair, can with thee compare ? 

What shall I liken thee to ? 
Shall I call thee a flower, born in the first shower 

That tells us the spring-tide is here, Susie ? 
No, the flower fades away at the close of the day ; 
Thou art blooming and sweet all the year, Susie ! 

What shall I liken thee to, Susie ? 

What shall I liken thee to ? 
What rings out so free, as thy laugh full of glee : 

What shall I liken thee to ? 
Shall I call thee a bird, whose warble is heard 
From the bough of the blossoming tree, Susie ' 



36 SUSIE. 

No, the bird's song is still, when November blows chill ; 
Never wind shall blow coldly on thee, Susie ! 

What shall I liken thee to, Susie ? 
What shall I liken thee to ? 
What so precious and bright, as thy face of delight ? 

What shall I liken thee to ? 
To brilliants that shine like stars from the mine, 

Or pearls from the depths of the sea, Susie ? 

No, the gem has been sold for silver and gold ; 

But what price could ever buy thee, Susie ? 

There's nought I can liken thee to, Susie, 
There's nought I can liken thee to : 
Bird, flowret, and gem, alike I condemn ; 
There's naught I can liken thee to. 
Thou'rt a gift from above, of the Father of love, 
Sent to call our hearts upward to Him, Susie ; 
His smile we see now in the light on thy brow ; 
God grant it may never grow dim, Susie ! 



EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. 

Within her downy cradle, there lay a little child, 
And a group of hovering angels unseen upon her 

smiled ; 
When a strife arose among them, a loving, holy strife, 
Which should shed the richest blessing over the new- 
born life. 

One breathed upon her features, and the babe in 

beauty grew, 
With a cheek like morning's blushes, and an eye of 

azure hue ; 
Till every one who saw her, were thankful for the 

sight 
Of a face so sweet and radiant with ever fresh delight 



38 EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. 

Another gave her accents, and a voice as musical 

As a spring-bird's joyous carol, or a rippling streamlet's 

fall; 
Till all who heard her laughing, or her words of 

childish grace, 
Loved as much to listen to her, as to look upon her 

face. 

Another brought from heaven a clear and gentle mind, 

And within the lovely casket the precious gem en- 
shrined ; 

Till all who knew her wondered, that God should be 
so good, 

As to bless with such a spirit a world so cold and 
rude. 

Thus did she grow in beauty, in melody, and truth, 
The budding of her childhood just opening into 

youth ; 
And to our hearts yet dearer, every moment than 

before, 
She became, though we thought fondly, heart could 

not love her more. 



EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. 39 

Then out spake another angel, nobler, brighter than the 

rest, 
As with strong arm, but tender, he caught her to his 

breast : 
" Ye have made her all too lovely for a child of mortal 

race, 
But no shade of human sorrow shall darken o'er her 

face; 

" Ye have tuned to gladness only the accents of her 

tongue, 
And no wail of human anguish shall from her lips be 

wrung ; 
Nor shall the soul that shineth so purely from within 
Her form of earth-born frailty, ever know a sense 

of sin. 

u Lulled in my faithful bosom, I will bear her far 

away, 
Where there is no sin, nor anguish, nor sorrow, nor 

decay ; 
And mine a boon more glorious than all your shifts 

shall be — 
Lo ! I crown her happy spirit with immortality !" 



40 EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. 

Then on his heart our darling yielded up her gentle 

breath, 
For the stronger, brighter angel, who loved her best, 

was Death ! 



OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF 
HEAVEN." 

I heard a gentle murmuring, 

Twixt laughter and a tune, 
Or like a full brook gurgling 

Through the long grass in June. 

I traced the sound ; an infant lay 

There in his cradle-bed ; 
And through the curtain shone a ray 

Of sunshine on his head. 

It flashed from off each golden tress, 

Like the glory painters see 
Round young John in the wilderness, 

Or Christ on Mary's knee. 

4* 



42 "OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN." 

The child put up his little hand, 

He waved it to and fro ; 
And words I could not understand, 

Seemed from his lips to flow ; 

Words in which joy and love would blend. 

As if he thought the while 
The light to be a pleasant friend, 

A friend with a pleasant smile. 

Thus, till the sunny ray grew dim, 
As it passed the window-pane, 

He murmured on his happy hymn, 
Then fell asleep again. 

O God ! I thought, that I could be 

Like that meek little child ; 
To greet thy truth which smiles on me, 

With brow as undefiled ; 

And then, with lips as innocent, 
And heart as free from guile, 

Sing of thy love in glad content, 
Look up, and see thee smile. 



ANEMONES. 

God ! in what unsparing showers, 
Hast thou lavished these fair flowers ! 
On the slope of sunny bank, 
'Mongst the budding mosses dank, 
At the dripping steep rock's foot, 
Round the tall tree's swelling root; 
Everywhere I look, I see 
Springing the Anemone. 

The swain goes whistling to his work, 
The hunter seeks in copse to lurk, 
The warrior on his steed pricks by, 
And love casts down the maiden's eye, 
While the bent man with hoary hau- 
ls plodding on in grasping care : 



44 ANEMONES. 

Few have time or glance for thee, 
Lowly, sweet Anemone. 

Like thy thousand starry eyes, 
Are the thoughts that in me rise, 
Whensoe'er I walk abroad 
In the sun or shade with God ; 
Neither toil, nor force, nor stealth, 
Meddle with the boundless wealth, 
Which His sweet grace gives to me, 
With thy flowers, Anemone. 



VIOLETS. 

When the sou'west winds do bring, 
For the earth's awakening, 
Soft, and warm, and loving breath, 
Quickening Nature from her death ; 
Look, where sunward, as he sets, 
Leans the bank, for violets ! 

Under leaves of tender green, 
Shrinking, modest are they seen, 
Smiling with their meek blue eyes, 
Where the perfumed dewdrop lies : 
Happy he who ne'er forgets, 
Welcome for the violets ! 

So when past the hour of pain, 
Cheering mercy comes again, 



46 VIOLETS. 

God ! may thankful thoughts arise, 
From my humble heart and eyes ; 
Eyes that still the sorrow wets, 
Like the gentle violets. 



TO 



I know not that thou'rt beautiful in other eyes than 

mine; 
Nor can I tell the nameless charm that makes this 

bosom thine ; 
I only know that I could gaze for ever on that face, 
And see, in every feature, love, in every gesture, grace. 

The slightest touch of thy soft hand goes thrilling to 

my heart, 
Awakening all its chords to joy, as by a minstrel's 

art; 
I may not hear the slightest tone of thy low liquid 

voice, 
Nor feel as though some mystic power had called me 

to rejoice. 



48 TO . 

There was a time that I could change my homage at 

my will, 
And leave the lovely one, to bend before a lovelier 

still ; 
But now no eyes but thine seem bright, no form but 

thine is fair ; 
I'm always happy where thou art, and happy only 

there. 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

Are there not moments when thy heart is burning, 

Sweet lady, thy young happy heart, 
With strange mysterious sympathies ; a yearning 

To walk from ruder scenes apart, 
Alone with holy Nature ; from her learning 
Wild numbers, and, with gentle art, 
To echo back her voice ? 
Hast thou not felt its secret chords all trembling, 
Like the iEolian strings to the glad breeze, 
And murmuring music fitfully resembling 
Their rich, unearthly symphonies ? 
Oh ! well may st thou rejoice ; 
For by that conscious token, 
God to thy heart hath spoken. 

5 



50 TOAYOUNGFRIEND. 

'Tis He who taught the lark, from earth up-springing, 

To warble forth his matin strain : 
And the pure stream, in liquid gushes singing, 

Gladly to bless the thirsty plain ; 
And from the laden bee, when homeward winging 
With tiny song, doth not disdain 
To hear the voice of praise. 
There's not a voice of Nature but is telling 

(If we will hear that voice aright,) 
How much, when human hearts with love are swelling, 
His blessed bosom hath delight 
In our rejoicing lays ; 
His love, that never slumbers, 
Taught thee these tuneful numbers. 

There are cold hearts will bid thee check the gladness 

Of thy young spirit, in the flow 
Of joyous poesy ; and say, that sadness 

Suits better with our world of wo ; 
That minstrelsy oft ends in moaning madness, 

As thou too late mayst know ; 
O lady, heed them not ! 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 51 

The world, 'tis true, hath many a shade of sorrow ; 

Yet we have gleams of bliss, the light 
Of an eternal dawn ; then let us borrow 

Its holy hope, to keep our spirits bright 
Here in our darker lot. 
The angels sing in heaven, 
And song to thee is given. 

Hath not God strewed our weary way with flowers, 

And clothed, with robe of many a hue, 
The fragrant meadows and the woodland bowers, 

Feeding their beauty with his dew, 
Making them glad with sunshine and with showers ? 
Is it not written that He knew 
Himself a joy divine, 
Amidst young Eden's holy trees, when walking 

There his children sought his love ? 
And the pure spirit still may hear Him talking 
Such words as drew rapt Enoch's soul above. 
So ask Him to draw thine ; 
Seek Him, for He is near thee, 
Sing to Him, He will hear thee. 



52 TOAYOUNGFRIEND. 

Live thou with God in nature ; never falter 

In thy communings with Him. Be 
Like those blest birds we read of in the Psalter, 

Who found a home from peril free 
In God's own house, and nestled near His altar, 
Making it ring with melody. 

That temple stands no more ; 
But Nature standeth still ; God's holy presence 

Abideth with us ; and the offering 
Of thankful joy to Him, whose perfect essence 
Is perfect Love, our glowing lips may bring 
Till this brief life is o'er ; 
And in a brighter, better, 
Our spirits know no fetter. 



LINES, 

ON LEAVING THE MANOR-HOUSE, ALBANY, 18 3 5. 

When fainting in the desert heat, 

The pilgrim finds some greener spot, 
Where arching palms above him meet, 

And the fierce sunbeams reach him not ; 
But streams of living water flow, 
To slake his thirst and cool his brow ; 

He lingers long, his toil forgot ; 
Then sighs to think that o'er the plain, 
Must lie his burning way again. 
— So lingered one beneath the shade 

Of these ancestral trees, and blest 
The kind hearts that his welcome made 

To pleasant food and quiet rest, 
An humble, yet an honoured guest ; 
Then, pausing on the threshold there, 
Left for his thanks, a pilgrim's prayei 

5* 



T O . 

O let me gaze into thine eyes, 
Those gentle eyes, so beautiful ! 
The heavens above are cold and dull, 

To their sweet mysteries. 

In them I read of God's good might, 
More profitable lessons far, 
Than in the most resplendent star ; 

They show a world more bright. 

Within their lucid depths, live Truth, 
Love, Honour, Meekness, Courage, Peace, 
Abounding with a sure increase, 

Immortal in their youth : 



TO . 55 

Types of all pure and noble things 
Are radiant there from upper skies ; 
As angels once in Paradise 

Walked with their folded wings : 

Kind motives, fragrant as the balm 
Of healing ; wishes to do good, 
Soft as the breeze through Gilead's wood, 

That breaketh not its calm : 

Hopes of a better life, that yearn 
As exiles for their place of birth ; 
Fires, fed with incense on the earth, 

Ascending as they burn ; 

And harmonies, not of the sense, 
But thought, such as just spirits sing, 
When the Unseen is listening 

Their hush of joy intense. 

Let me gaze on, till I forget 
Thine outward loveliness of form, 
And know, instead of passion warm, 

A higher rapture yet. 



56 TO . 

Take me within thy heart ; unite 
My soul to thine, that I may share 
The holy health which liveth there, 
The ever deep delight- 
Teach me thy strength of patient faith, 
The lessons thou hast learned so well 
From sacred suffering, and tell 
Me what God's angel saith. 

O God, 'tis no idolatry, 
The love that twines me round thy gift, 
Who thus my weaker soul doth lift 

Upward with hers to thee ! 

Thou speakest in the tempest wind, 
The earthquake shock, the lightning fire ; 
But most thy Presence doth inspire 

The lowly, Christ-like mind. 

And thy wise grace hath sent, 
In the sweet life and words of her 
So dear to me, a messenger 

Of Christ most eloquent. 



TO . 57 

O ! call her not to leave me ; she 
May wait for Heaven, who lives so near 
To Thee on earth ; till both shall hear 

Thy voice, "Come up to me !" 



NIGHT STUDY. 

I am alone ; and yet 
In the still solitude there is a rush 

Around me, as were met 
A crowd of viewless wings ; I hear a gush 
Of mystic harmonies — heaven meeting earth, 
Making it to rejoice with holy mirth. 

Ye winged Phantasies, 
Sweeping before my spirit's conscious eye, 

Calling me to arise, 
To go forth with you from my very self, and fly 
Far into the unseen, unknown immense 
Of worlds beyond our sphere ; What are ye ? "Whence ? 

Ye eloquent voices, 
Now soft as breathings of a distant flute, 

Now strong as when rejoices 
The trumpet in the victory and pursuit ; 



NIGHT STUDY. 59 

Strange are ye, yet familiar, as ye call 

My soul to wake from earth's sense and its thrall. 

I know yon now ; I see 
With more than natural light ; Ye are the good, 

The wise departed; Ye 
Are come from heaven, to claim your brotherhood 
With mortal brother, struggling in the strife 
And chains, which once were yours in this sad life. 

Ye hover o'er the page 
Ye traced, in ancient days, with glorious thought 

For many a distant age ; 
Ye love to watch the inspiration caught 
From your sublime examples, and to cheer 
The fainting student to your high career. 

Ye come to nerve the soul, 
(Like him who near the Atoner stood, when He, 

Trembling, saw round Him roll 
The wrathful portents of Gethsemane,) 
With courage strong : the promise ye have known 
And proved, rapt for me from the Eternal throne. 



60 NIGHT STUDY. 

Still keep, O ! keep me near you, 
Compass me round with your immortal wings ; 

Still let my glad soul hear you 
Striking your triumphs from your golden strings 
Until with you I mount, and join the song, 
An angel like you, 'mid the white-robed throng. 



LINES, 

SUGGESTED BY THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE IN A 
friend's LETTER. 

"Last week I buried my sweet little Mary; she was three years and two 
months old, and had been ill four weeks. She was born on the Sabbath, taken 
sick on the Sabbath, and buried on the Sabbath. During her illness she seemed 
to take great consolation in repeating the many hymns she had learned. 'Mo- 
ther,' said she one day, ' I will meet you on the way to Jordan.' We thought 
she was asleep, but she was gone." — Rev. J. N. Danforth. 

'Twas on a blessed morning of the blessed day of rest, 
I clasped thee, as a gift from God, first to a father's 

breast ; 
And sweetly didst thou nestle there, a thing of holy 

love, 
Till soul shone out thy pleasant face, like sunshine 

from above : 



62 LINES. 

And the accents of thy lisping tongue seemed, to my 

partial thought, 
Like music, from the angel guards around thy pillow 

caught. 
We called thee by her precious name, who poured the 

rich perfume, 
With tears, upon her Master's feet, and watched his 

early tomb. 
I loved thee well, how tenderly God only knows ; but 

thou 
Art clasped unto the heart of One, who loves thee 

better now. 

'Twas on another blessed day, 'midst the Sabbath's 
holy hush, 

When first we marked upon thy cheek the fever's 
hectic flush; 

And a shuddering sense of mortal ill ran through thy 
gentle frame, 

Till we dared not speak the fearful thoughts that o'er 
our spirits came ; 

And many a weary, sleepless night, and weary, sleep- 
less day, 



LINES. 63 

We watched, beside thy burning bed, thy young life 

pass away. 
Yet there was joy amidst our grief, and hope, no tears 

could dim, 
As we listened to thy whispered prayers, and sweetly 

warbled hymn : 
Oh ! faithfully we watched thee then, amidst thy 

pangs ; but thou 
Art fallen asleep on Jesus' breast, and He will watch 

thee now. 

And yet another Sabbath came, but we left the house 

of God, 
To seek for thee a narrow house beneath the verdant 

sod ; 
And many a bitter tear was shed, as we sadly asked 

for room 
To hide our loved one from our sight within the silent 

tomb. 
Yet upward through those tears to heaven, each eye in 

hope was cast, 
That there will dawn for thee a day, the holiest and 

the last ; 



64 LINES. 

A day of endless life and joy, of fadeless, cloudless 

light, 
When God Almighty and the Lamb shall chase away 

the night. 
Oh ! lovely wert thou in our eyes, my beautiful, but 

thou 
Wilt wake with God's own likeness then upon thy 

cherub brow. 

Thou mayest not come again to us ; we would not call 

thee back, 
To tread with us, 'midst toil and gloom, the pilgrim's 

desert track : 
But oh ! that He, the lowly One, would grant us grace 

to be 
Like thee in childlike gentleness, and meek simpli- 
city; 
Then shall we follow where thou art, and in the trying 

day, 
When we must tread the vale of death, thou'lt meet us 

on our way, 
A radiant messenger of God, sent from the holy throng 
Around the throne, to welcome us with angel harp and 

song. 



LINES. 65 

Oh ! blest will be our meeting then, in that pure home 

on high, 
Where sin no more shall cloud the heart, or sorrow dim 

the eye ! 



6* 



"TO BE OR NOT TO BE." 

When the heart beats high with youthful pride, 
And the form we love is by our side ; 

When friends are fond, and life is gay 
With all th' enchantment hope can give ; 

Then all around us seems to say, 
O what a pleasant thing to live ! 

But when youth's glowing fires decay, 
And the form we love has passed away ; 

When hope has fled, and one by one 
Our early friends in silence lie ; 

(If God would say our work was done,) 
O what a pleasant thing to die ! 



LINES, 

WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO LAUREL HILL. 

The dead, the dead, the precious dead, 
O ! bear them far from the noisy tread 
And crowded haunts of busy men, 
To the sunlit mount and vine-clad glen, 
Where the mourner, bending o'er the stone, 
May pour her tears, and breathe her moan, 
In the luxury of grief, alone ; 
And no profaner step intrude 
Upon the silent solitude. 

The dead, the dead, the Christian dead, 
On whose parting hour Christ's grace was shed, 
Let them lie where once the Master slept, 
And the angels vigil o'er him kept ; 



68 LINES ON LAUREL HILL. 

Amid the garden's living bloom, 

Where grief may lose all thought of gloom, 

In the verdure rich, and soft perfume, 

And quell the murmuring thoughts that rise, 

In the sweet hope of Paradise. 

The dead, the dead, the lowly dead, 
O ! make with them my last low bed, 
Not in the charnel's loathsome cave, 
But 'neath the turf of the verdant grave ; 
There let my " dust return to dust," 
To rest in hope among the just, 
On my mother's breast in holy trust ; 
Till that "illustrious morning" break, 
When "they who sleep in dust shall wake." 



TO MY FRIEND'S BRIDE, WITH 
A BIBLE. 

Lady, I send no costly pearls, 
To twine among thy glossy curls ; 
Nor ask to place upon thy hand 
The brilliant in its golden band. 
Let others seek, by splendid guise, 
To win the gaze of wandering eyes ; 
Thou hast no need — that form and face 
Asks not for artificial grace, 
And, purer than the diamond's light, 
Beams in that smile thy spirit bright. 

Mine is an humble gift, and yet 
More precious than the coronet 
Upon the brow of Eastern king, 
With priceless jewels glittering ; 



70 TO MY FRIEND'S BRIDE. 

For thou wilt find it ever be 
A matchless Talisman to thee, 
To ward afar each thing of sin, 
And bless thy heart with peace within : 
The spirit's Cestus, charming love 
With holy beauty from above : 
A faithful Mirror, in whose face 
Each inner feature thou may'st trace, 
From envy's warping censure free, 
Or falser glare of flattery : 
A steady and abiding Light, 
When all around is wrapt in night, 
Shedding afar its guiding ray, 
To cheer thee in thy heavenward way. 
And when thy mind with doubt is dim, 
Or sorrows hush thy cheerful hymn ; 
Or, worn with trial, faint and slow, 
Thy feeble steps but feebler grow ; 
Then, like the sage's Telescope, 
'Twill lift thy soul above the earth, 
And cheer thee with a joyful hope 
Of bliss too great for mortal birth ; 



TO MY FRIEND'S BRIDE. 71 

While Heaven's reflected light appears, 
A rainbow smiling through thy tears. 
Or, like the Italian painter's glass, 
Seen through its mean, away shall pass 
Each sombre hue, and earth shall be 
A very paradise to thee. 

Thus precious in the bloom of life, 
It fails not in the final strife ; 
Though sight grow dim, and cheek wax pale, 
And heart with sick'ning sense shall fail, 
Upon thy brow its power will stamp, 
Amid the death-dew cold and damp, 
The seal of God ; and, hovering low, 
Angelic ministers will know 
The radiant signature, and shed 
Heaven's richest odours round thy bed ; 
Then changed, the fearful enemy 
No more shall king of terrors be, 
But, shine before thy kindling eye, 
Herald of immortality ! 

Keep it, sweet lady, it will prove 
The symbol of a purer love, 



72 TO MY FRIEND'S BRIDE. 

Than that which decks thine outward mien 
With orient pearls, and diamond sheen. 
Thy fairer mind I fain would bless 
With fadeless gems of godliness. 



SONNET. 

There is a nobler strife than clashing spears, 

A nobler peril than the battle-field ; 

'Tis when, with trust in God worn as a shield, 
'Midst universal hisses, scoffs, and sneers, 
The man of truth with brow serene appears, 

And stands forth singly for the right, appealed 

To the Eternal Umpire; nor will yield 
One backward step, from policy or fears. 

The savage, bandit, nay, the brute is steeled 
'Gainst bristling danger — e'en the worm uprears 

Beneath the foot his tiny sting, to crave 
A venomed vengeance ; but immortal years 

Are full of glory for the Christ-like brave, 
Who dare to suffer wrong, that they from wrong may 
save. 

7 



HYMN TO NIGHT. 

(suggested BY THE BAS-RELIEF OF THORWALDSEN.) 

Yes ! bear them to their rest; 
The rosy babe, tired with the glare of day, 
The prattler, fall'n asleep e'en in his play ; 

Clasp them to thy soft breast, 
O Night; 
Bless them in dreams with a deep-hushed delight. 

Yet must they wake again, 
Wake soon to all the bitterness of life, 
The pang of sorrow, the temptation strife, 

Ay, to the conscience pain : 
O Night, 
Canst thou not take with them a longer flight ? 



HYMN TO NIGHT. 75 

Canst thou not bear them far, 
E'en now, all innocent, before they know 
The taint of sin, its consequence of wo, 

The world's distracting jar, 
O Night, 
To some etherial, holier, happier height ? 

Canst thou not bear them up, 
Through starlit skies, far from this planet dim 
And sorrowful, e'en while they sleep, to Him 

Who drank for us the cup, 
O Night, 
The cup of wrath, for hearts in faith contrite ? 

To Him, for them who slept 
A babe all lowly on his mother's knee, 
And from that hour to cross-crowned Calvary, 

In all our sorrows wept, 
O Night, 
That on our souls might dawn Heaven's cheering light ! 

Go, lay their little heads 
Close to that human heart, with love divine 
Deep-beating, while his arms immortal twine 



76 HYMN TO NIGHT. 



Around them, as He sheds, 
O Night, 
On them a brother's grace of God's own boundless might, 



Let them immortal wake 
Among the deathless flowers of Paradise ; 
Where angel songs of welcome with surprise 

This their last sleep may break, 
O Night, 
And to celestial joy their kindred souls invite. 

There can come no sorrow ; 
The brow shall know no shade, the eye no tears, 
For, ever young, through Heaven's eternal years, 

In one unfading morrow, 
O Night, 
Nor sin, nor age, nor pain, their cherub beauty blight. 

Would we could sleep as they, 
So stainless and so calm — at rest with thee, — 
And only wake in immortality ! 

Bear us with them away, 
O Night, 
To that etherial, holier, happier height ! 



SONG. 

I lately plucked an opening rose 

From off its mossy tree, 
To bloom amidst the bosom snows 

Of thy sweet purity ; 
But in an hour, the hapless flower 

Was careless flung away, 
Its fragrance shed, its promise fled, 

To perish where it lay. 

Full many a rose may grow beside 

Upon that mossy tree ; 
And many deck the bosom pride 

Of thy sweet purity ; 
But, wo is me ! I gave to thee 

A heart thou didst disdain ; 
And in the dust lies all its trust, 

Never to bloom again. 

7* 



SONG OF THE RHINELANDER IN 
AMERICA. 

Count it not strange, if 'mid the throng 

Of merry hearts, mine is not gay ; 
And that I sing a plaintive song — 

My heart is far away. 
The stranger's thoughts are with his home, 

The fatherland across the brine ; 
His truant feet abroad may roam, 

His heart is on the Rhine. 

O, 'tis not that I prize the less 
The welcome kind ye give to me ; 

It is a faithful tenderness 
For love beyond the sea. 

The stranger's eye with tears is dim, 

Though wit and beauty round him shine ; 



THE RHINELANDER IN AMERICA. 79 

He thinks of those who think of him, 
Beside th' abounding Rhine. 

I would not cast one shadow o'er 

This smiling hour of social mirth ; 
Yet memory bids me sigh the more 

For my far distant hearth. 
Rich harmonies around me gush, 

But to a German heart like mine, 
There is no music like the rush 

Of thy broad stream, O Rhine ! 



SPARE THE BIRDS. 

Spare, spare the gentle bird, 

Nor do the warbler wrong ; 
In the green wood is heard 

Its sweet and holy song ; 
Its song, so clear and glad, 

Each listener's heart has stirred, 
And none, however sad, 

But blessed that happy bird. 

When, at the early day, 
The farmer trod the dew, 

It met him on the way, 

With welcome blithe and true ; 

So when, at weary eve, 
He homeward wends again, 



SPARE THE BIRDS. 81 

Full sorely would he grieve 
To miss the well-loved strain. 

The mother, who had kept 

Watch o'er her wakeful child, 
Smiled when the baby slept, 

Soothed by its wood-notes wild ; 
And gladly has she flung 

The casement open free, 
As the dear warbler sung 

From out the household tree. 

The sick man on his bed 

Forgets his weariness, 
And turns his feeble head 

To list its songs, that bless 
His spirit, like a stream 

Of mercy from on high, 
Or music in the dream 

That seals the prophet's eye. 

O ! laugh not at my words, 

To warn your thoughtless hours ; 



82 SPARE THE BIRDS. 

Cherish the gentle birds, 
Cherish the fragile flowers : 

For since man was bereft 
Of Paradise, in tears, 

God these sweet things hath left 
To cheer our eyes and ears. 



WORDS FOR MUSIC. 

I love to sing when I am glad, 

Song is the echo of my gladness ; 
I love to sing when I am sad, 

Till song makes sweet my very sadness. 
'Tis pleasant time, when voices chime 

To some sweet rhyme in concert only ; 
And song to me is company, 

Good company, when I am lonely. 

Whene'er I greet the morning light, 

My song goes forth in thankful numbers, 

And, 'mid the shadows of the night, 
I sing me to my welcome slumbers. 

My heart is stirred by each glad bird, 

Whose notes are heard in summer's bowers ; 



84 WORDS FOR MUSIC. 

And song gives birth to friendly mirth 
Around the hearth, in wintry hours. 

Man first learned song in Paradise, 

From the bright angels o'er him singing ; 
And in our home, above the skies, 

Glad anthems are for ever ringing. 
God lends his ear, well pleased to hear 

•The songs that cheer His children's sorrow ; 
Till day shall break, and we shall wake 

Where love will make unfading morrow. 

Then let me sing while yet I may, 

Like him God loved, the sweet-tongued Psalmist, 
Who found, in harp and holy lay, 

The charm that keeps the spirit calmest ; 
For sadly here I need the cheer, 

While sinful fear with promise blendeth ; 
! how I long to join the throng, 

Who sing the song that never endeth ! 



PATRIOTIC HYMN. 

God's blessing be upon 
Our own, our native land ! 

The land our fathers won 

By the strong heart and hand, 
The keen axe and the brand ; 

When they felled the forest's pride, 

And the tyrant foe defied, 

The free, the rich, the wide : 
God for our native land ! 

To none upon a throne 

But God, we bend the knee ; 

No noble name we own 
But noble liberty; 
Ours is a brother-band ; 

8 



86 PATRIOTIC HYMN. 

For the spirit of our sires 
Each patriot bosom fires, 
And the strong faith inspires : 
God for our native land ! 

Up with the starry sign, 

The red stripes and the white ! 
Where'er its glories shine, 
In peace or in the fight, 
We own its high command ; 
For the flag our fathers gave, 
O'er our children's heads shall wave, 
And their children's children's grave 
God for our native land ! 

America ! to thee, 

In one united vow, 
To keep thee strong and free, 

And glorious as now, 

We pledge each heart and hand ; 
By the blood our fathers shed ! 
By the ashes of our dead ! 
By the sacred soil we tread ! 

God for our native land ! 



THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

Maine, from her farthest border, gives the first exulting 
shout, 

And from New Hampshire's granite heights, the echo- 
ing peal rings out ; 

The mountain farms of staunch Vermont prolong the 
thundering call ; 

Massachusetts answers: " Bunker Hill!" a watch- 
word for us all. 

Rhode Island shakes her sea-wet locks, acclaiming 
with the free, 

And staid Connecticut breaks forth in sacred har- 
mony. 

The giant joy of proud New York, loud as an earth- 
quake's roar, 

Is heard from Hudson's crowded banks to Erie's 
crowded shore, 



88 THEFOURTHOFJULY. 

New Jersey, hallowed by their blood, who erst in 

battle fell, 
At Monmouth's, Princeton's, Trenton's fight, joins in 

the rapturous swell. 
Wide Pennsylvania, strong as wide, and true as she 

is strong, 
From every hill to valley, pours the torrent tide along. 
Stand up, stout little Delaware, and bid thy volleys 

roll, 
Though least among the old Thirteen, we judge thee 

by thy soul ! 
Hark to the voice of Maryland ! over the broad Che- 
sapeake 
Her sons, as valiant as their sires, in cannonadings 

speak. 
Virginia, nurse of Washington, and guardian of his 

grave, 
Now to thine ancient glories turn the faithful and the 

brave ; 
We need not hear the bursting cheer this holy day 

inspires, 
To know that, in Columbia's cause, " Virginia never 

tires." 



THEFOURTHOFJULY. 89 

Fresh as the evergreen that waves above her sunny soil, 
North Carolina shares the bliss, as oft the patriot's 

toil; 
And the land of Sumter, Marion, of Moultrie, Pinck- 

ney, must 
Respond the cry, or it will rise e'en from their sleeping 

dust. 
And Georgia, by the dead who lie along Savannah's 

bluff, 
Full well we love thee, but we ne'er can love thee well 

enough ; 
From thy wild northern boundary, to thy green isles 

of the sea, 
Where beat on earth more gallant hearts than now 

throb high in thee? 
On, on, 'cross Alabama's plains, the ever-flowery 

glades, 
To where the Mississippi's flood the turbid Gulf 

invades ; 
There, borne from many a mighty stream upon her 

mightier tide, 
Come down the swelling long huzzas from all that 

valley wide, 

8* 



90 THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

As wood-crowned Alleghany's call, from all her sum- 
mits high, 

Reverberates among the rocks that pierce the sunset 
sky; 

While on the shores and through the swales, 'round 
the vast inland seas, 

The stars and stripes, 'midst freemen's songs, are flash- 
ing to the breeze. 

The woodsman, from the mother, takes his boy upon 
his knee, 

To tell him how their fathers fought and bled for 
liberty ; 

The lonely hunter sits him down the forest spring 
beside, 

To think upon his country's worth, and feel his coun- 
try's pride ; 

While many a foreign accent, which our God can un- 
derstand, 

Is blessing Him for home and bread in this free, fertile 
land. 

Yes ! when upon the eastern coast we sink to happy 
rest, 

The Day of Independence rolls still onward to the 
west, 



THE FOURTH OF JULY. 91 

Till dies on the Pacific shore the shout of jubilee, 
That woke the morning with its voice along the 

Atlantic sea. 
— God ! look down upon the land which thou hast 

loved so well, 
And grant that in unbroken truth her children still 

may dwell ; 
Nor, while the grass grows on the hill and streams flow 

through the vale, 
May they forget their fathers' faith, or in their cove- 
nant fail ! 
God keep the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath 

the sun ; 
" Our country, our whole country, and our country 

ever one !" 



SONG. 

(AT MIDNIGHT, IN AN ENGLISH MAIL-COACH.) 

My country, oh ! my country, 

My heart still sighs for thee, 
And many are the longing thoughts 

I send across the sea. 
My weary feet have wandered far, 

And far they yet must roam ; 
But oh ! whatever land I tread, 

My heart is with my home. 

The fields of merry England 
Are spreading round me wide, 

The verdant vale, and castled steep, 
In all their ancient pride ; 

But give to me my own wild land, 
Beyond the salt sea's foam, 



SONG. 93 

For there, amid her forests free, 
My spirit is at home, 

I've listened, at the sunset hour, 

To the songs of merry France, 
And smiled to see her peasants glad 

In the evening's cheerful dance ; 
But sadness chased away the smile, 

As I thought, far o'er the sea, 
Of the pensive group round the sacred hearth, 

Whose hearts were sad for me. 

There's no home like my own home, 

Across the dark blue sea ; 
The land of beauty and of worth, 

The bright land of the free ; 
Where royal foot hath never trod, 

Nor bigot forged a chain ; 
Oh ! would that I were safely back 

In that bright land again ! 



SONG. 

I see thee sweetly smile, 

I hear thee gaily sing, 
But I am sure the while 

Thy heart is suffering. 
Thine eye is never glad, 

Thy smile quick fades away ; 
Ah ! well I know that thou art sad, 

Although thy song be gay. 

I've marked, unseen by thee, 

The changes of thy cheek, 
When thy heart seemed to be 

So full thou couldst not speak. 
The tear, oft in thine eye, 

Is instant dashed away, 
And in its pauses thou dost sigh, 

AJ though thy song be gay. 



SONG. 95 

I've read upon Ihy brow 

Smoothed for the festive crowd, 
Of lonely hours, when thou 

Art desolately bowed 
In grief, thou now wouldst hide, 

But then will have its way, 
And flow in a far bitterer tide, 

Because thy song was gay. 

Each day thy cheek grows pale, 

And thinner than before ; 
Thy sweet smile soon must fail 

To hide thy sadness more. 
Alas ! so sweet a thing 

So soon should pass away ! 
Thy heart is breaking string by string, 

Although thy song be gay. 



SONG. 

I have no heart to sing, 
I have no heart to play ; 

And I find it is a weary thing 
To pass the time away. 

I cannot sleep at night, 
Or, sleeping, sadly dream ; 

Then wake to wish 'twere light, 
And catch the earliest beam. 

I'm sad when I'm alone ; 

And yet when friends are round, 
The merry laugh, the merry tone, 

Is a discordant sound ; 



SONG. 

And 1 steal away to weep 
Where no light eye can see ; 

Yet wish for one to keep 
My sadness company. 



SONG. 

She's fresh as breath of summer morn, 

She's fair as flowers in spring, 
And her voice it has the warbling gush 

Of a bird upon the wing ; 
For joy like dew shines in her eye, 

Her heart is kind and free ; 
'Tis gladness but to look upon 

The face of Alice Lee. 

She knows not of her loveliness, 

And little thinks the while, 
How the very air grows beautiful 

In the beauty of her smile ; 
As sings within the fragrant rose 

The honey-gath'ring bee, 
So murmureth laughter on the lips 

Of gentle Alice Lee. 



SONG. 99 



How welcome is the rustling breeze 

When sultry day is o'er ! 
More welcome far the graceful step, 

That brings her to the door ; 
'Tis sweet to gather violets ; 

But O ! how blest is he, 
Who wins a glance of modest love, 

From lovely Alice Lee ! 



SONG OF THE TEE-TOTALLER. 

Let others sing the ruby bright 

In the red wine's sparkling glow ; 
Dearer to me is the diamond light 

In the fountain's purer flow. 
The feet of earthly men have trod 

The juice from the bleeding vine, 
But the stream comes pure from the hand of God, 

To fill this cup of mine. 
Then give me the cup of cold water, 

The pure sweet cup of cold water ; 
His arm is strong, though his toil be long, 

Who drinks but the clear cold water. 

The dewdrop lies in the flowret's cup, 
How rich is its perfume now ! 



SONG OF THE TEE-TOTALLER. 101 

And the thirsty earth with joy looks up, 

When Heav'n sheds rain on her brow. 
The brook goes forth with a cheerful voice, 

To gladden the vale along ; 
And the bending trees on her banks rejoice 

To listen her quiet song. 
Then give me the cup of cold water, 

The pure sweet cup of cold water ; 
For bright is his eye, and his spirit high, 

Who drinks but the clear cold water. 

The lark springs up with a lighter strain, 

When the wave has washed her wing ; 
And the steed flings back his thundering mane 

In the might of the crystal spring. 
This was the drink of Paradise, 

Ere blight on its beauty fell ; 
And the buried streams of its gladness rise 

In every moss-grown well. 
Then here's for the cup of cold water, 

The pure sweet cup of cold water ; 
Unto all that live will Nature give, 

Bat a drink of clear cold water, 



THE AULD SCOTCH SANGS. 

(AFTER HEARING MR. DEMPSTER SING.) 

O ! sing to me the auld Scotch sangs, 

F the braid Scottish tongue, 
The sangs my father loved to hear, 

The sangs my mither sung ; 
When she sat beside my cradle, 

Or croon'd me on her knee, 
An' I wad na sleep, she sang sae sweet, 

The auld Scotch sangs to me. 

Yes ! sing the auld, the gude auld sangs, 

Auld Scotia's gentle pride. 
O' the wimpling burn and the sunny brae, 

An' the cosie ingle-side ; 



THE AULD SCOTCH SANGS. 1 0:3 

Sangs o' the broom an' heather, 

Sangs o' the trysting tree, 
The laverock's lilt and the gowan's blink ; 

The auld Scotch sangs for me ! 

Sing ony o' the auld Scotch sangs, 

The bly thesome or the sad ; 
They mak' me smile when I am wae, 

An' greet when I am glad. 
My heart gaes back to auld Scotland, 

The saut tears dim mine e'e, 
An' the Scotch bluid leaps in a' my veins, 

As ye sing thae sangs to me. 

Sing on, sing mair o' thae auld sangs ; 

For ilka ane can tell 
O' joy or sorrow i' the past, 

Where memory loves to dwell ; 
Though hair win gray, an' limbs win auld, 

Until the day I dee, 
I'll bless the Scottish tongue that sinus 

The auld Scotch sangs to me. 



SONG. 

I hae a cup o' gude red wine ; 

Wha shall I pledge it wi' ? 
Nane, nane shall be a toast o' mine, 

Save thee, my Mary, thee. 
Then here's a health to thee, my dear, 

Then here's a health to thee ; 
For its hue is like thy bonnie cheek, 

And it sparkles like thine e'e ! 

I hae a wreath baith rich and rare ; 

Whose shall the posie be ? 
Nane, nane shall twine it 'mid their hair, 

Save thee, my Mary, thee. 
Then here's a wreath for thee, my dear, 

Then here's a wreath for thee ; 
For the opening rose is like thy mou', 

— There's nae flow'r like thine e'e ! 



SONG. 10 5 

I hae a heart baith leal and kind ; 

Wha shall be queen to me ? 
Nane, nane shall rule aboon my mind, 

Save thee, my Mary, thee. 
Then here's a heart for thee, my dear, 

Then here's a heart for thee ; 
And if it e'er should grow too cauld, 

Just warm it wi' thine e'e ! 



SONG. 

O ! happy was the gloamin', when 

I gently woo'd and won thee, 
As through the shadows o' the glen 

The young moon smiled upon thee. 
Thine e'en were like the stars aboon, 

Thy step was like the fairy, 
And sweeter than the throstle's tune 

Was thy saft voice, my Mary. 
Thy han' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our beating hearts thegither, 
And mair than a' the w T arld beside 

Were we to ane anither. 

Fu' mony a day we twa hae seen, 

Fu' mony a day o' sorrow; 
And clouds that lowered the yester-e'en, 

Grew blacker on the morrow ; 



SONG. 10? 

Yet never was the day sae sad, 

Nor night sae mirk and eerie, 
But ae fond kiss could mak us glad, 

My ain dear faithfu' Mary. 
Thy han' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our beating hearts thegither, 
The warld might frown, but what cared we, 

Sae we had ane anither? 

/ 

And now, as in the gloamin' sweet, 

When first my passion won thee, 
I homeward come at e'en to meet 

And fondly gaze upon thee ; 
Tho' locks be gray on ilka brow, 

And feet be slow and wearie, 
O, ne'er to me sae dear wert thou, 

Nor I to thee, my Mary. 
Thy han' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our beating hearts thegither, 
Whate'er may change, thae hearts are still 

The same to ane anither. 

The gloamin' dim o' passing life, 
Is fii'ing gently o'er us ; 



108 SONG. 

And here we sit, auld man and wife, 

Nor dread the night before us ; 
For we maun lift to heaven hie 

A lightsome hope and cheerie, 
Nor fear to lay us doon and dee, 

And wak' aboon, my Mary. 
Thy han' in mine, my cheek to thine, 

Our faithfu' hearts thegither ; 
Welcome be death to tak' the ane, 

Gin he will tak' the ither ! 



SONNET. 

ON A PICTURE OF THE MAGDALENE ASLEEP. 

Thy tears are dried, sweet penitent ; no more 

Abandoned on the ground we see thee lie, 

The precious word of life beneath thine eye, 
Searching the sacred record o'er and o'er 
To find His grace for sins thy thoughts deplore, 

Who came for lost ones such as thee to die. 

— Thou art forgiven. — 'Neath a smiling sky, 
E'en as thou didst with upward face adore, 

(The holy Cross clasped closely to thy breast,) 
Sleep has come o'er thee, worn and wearied 

By anxious vigils ; yet in slumber blest, 
Heaven's radiant glory circles round thy head, 

Filling thy soul with visions of that rest 

Where e'en repentance has no tears to shed ! 

10 



ZAPPI'S SONNET 

ON THE PORTRAIT OF RAFFAELLE BY HIMSELF. 

And this is Raffaelle ! There, in that one face, 

So sadly sweet, sought Nature to portray 
His own high dreams of nobleness and grace, 

The all of genius that she could convey 
In features visible. He alone could trace 

The great Idea ; nor could he essay 
Upon the eternal canvass thus to place, 

Secure in beauty far beyond decay, 
Another form so glorious as his own. 

E'en eager Death held in suspense his dart : 
"How shall the painter from his work be known," 

He asks, " that I may strike him to the heart?" 
" Fruitless thy rage," the great soul gives reply, 

" Nor image, nor its author, e'er shall die-" 



TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 

Suffenus, whom we both have known so well, 
No other man in manners can excel ; 
Facetious, courteous, affable, urbane, 
The world's approval he is sure to gain. 
But, would you think it ? he has now essayed 
To be a bard, and countless verses made ; 
Perhaps ten thousand, perhaps ten times more, 
For none but he could ever count them o'er ; 
Not scribbled down on scraps, as one does when 
In careless rhymes we only try our pen ; 
But in a gilt-edged book, all richly bound, 
The writing ornate with a care profound, 
Rich silken cords to mark each favourite part. 
The cover, ev'n, a monument of art. 
Yet as you read, Suffenus, who till then 
Seemed the most pleasant of all gentlemen, 



112 TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 

Becomes offensive as the country boor, 

Who milks rank goats beside his cottage door, 

Or digs foul ditches : such a change is wrought 

By verse with neither sense nor music fraught. 

So crazed is he with this same wretched rhyme, 

That never does he know so blest a time 

As when he writes away, and fondly deems 

He rivals Homer's god-enraptured dreams ; 

And wonders, in his pride, himself to see, 

The very pattern-pink of poesy. 

Alas ! Suffenus, while I laugh at thee, 

The world, for aught I know, may laugh at me. 

It is the madness of each one to pride 

Himself on that t'were better far to hide ; 

Nor know the faults in that peculiar sack, 

Which iEsop says is hanging at his back. 



PASTORAL. 

IMITATED FROM TIBULLUS. 

Let him who will, hoard heaps of yellow gold, 
Or vast domains in servile culture hold, 
And tremble sleepless, lest he hear afar 
The trumpet heralds of the invader's car. 
Secure in humble quiet, let me trim 
My vines and orchards, till the evening dim 
Call me from wholesome labour, to retire 
Where peace awaits me by my cottage fire ; 
Content to hope that autumn's faith will bring 
Full wages for the industry of spring 
And genial summer's sweat, sufficient store 
Of corn and wine-vats running freely o'er. 
He never trusts in vain, who owns, like me, 
A Providence o'er soil, and vine and tree, 
10* 



114 PASTORAL. 

And fails not still his ready thanks to pay 
At village church, where rustics meet to pray, 
Whose simple porch, entwined with creepers green. 
And tapering spire, across the mead is seen : 
Nor there alone, but when by day a-field 
Spontaneous praises from his heart will yield ; 
Or, kneeling morn and eve at home, before 
The household group, recounts their mercies o'er. 
Yes, for thy sake, Almighty Source of all, 
The poorer stranger at my door may call, 
Nor empty thence, without God speed, depart ; 
The widow's and the orphan's saddened heart 
Shall sing for joy, as they unchidden glean 
Their bosoms full my harvest sheaves between ; 
And not unfrequent, summoned all to share 
My humble feast, the neighbours shall repair, 
The lads and lasses innocently bold, 
Or, more sedate, gray-beard and matron old ; 
For them the fatted calf I'll gladly kill, 
For them the cup with ruddy pleasure fill. 
This is thy due, my God, the sacrifice 
Of all most grateful that to thee may rise ; 



PASTORAL. 115 

So on my happy heart look mildly down, 

And all my toil with moderate plenty crown. 

Let me, contented, thus remote remain, 

Nor make long journeys for uncertain gain ; 

Shunning the summer noon's too ardent beam, 

Prone in the shade beside some murmuring stream ; 

Yet ne'er averse, without excessive toil, 

To break for tender plants the stiffened soil, 

Or urge the slow-paced oxen, as I guide 

The sharpened share with all a ploughman's pride. 

And be it mine with shepherd's love to bear 

The bleating wanderer from its mother's care 

Homeward again, and hush its wild alarms, 

In the safe shelter of my gentle arms. 

So He, in whom I trust, will guard my fold 

From stealthy wolf or human robber bold ; 

And not refuse the humble boon I crave, 

My loaded vines from plundering birds to save. 

Let the proud noble boast his wealthy store, 

Enough be mine — I would not ask for more ; 

So that at eve I rest my weary form 

On the dear couch by faithful love made warm ; 



116 PASTORAL. 

Then, though without are winter storms, how sweet 

To list the rain against the casement beat, 

As, clasping fondly to my happy breast 

My gentle wife, it lulls us to our rest ! 

Well do they earn the riches they attain 

Who tempt, for commerce, the tempestuous main ; 

Not all their gold or jewels would I buy 

With one sad drop from Delia's anxious eye. 

Boast thou, Messala, spoils of victory, 

Wrung from thy foes, or on the land or sea ! 

Let me fair Delia's captive blest remain, 

Her fair fond arms my ever-welcome chain ; 

Nor shall I care though I inglorious be, 

My gentle Delia, in thy company. 

With thee still let me live, and when I die, 

Thee shall I bless with my expiring eye. 

Thou by my couch in gentle grief shalt stand, 

And feel the last faint pressure of my failing hand. 

Then wilt thou weep — thy bitter tears shall raim 

While I unconscious of thy tears remain, 

Kissing the brow, the lips, whose icy chill 

Answers instead of love's delicious thrill. 



PASTORAL. 117 

Then wilt thou weep, when following to the grave 
Him e'en thy fond affection could not save. 
Yet, for my love, and for love's memory, spare 
The rippling gold of thy dishevelled hair ; 
Nor wound upon the flints thy tender knee — 
Their beauty spare, dear, e'en in death, to me ! 
And not a village swain or virgin then 
Tearless shall to their home return again 
From the sad scene, but, for thy sorrow's sake, 
Will for thy loss, a day of mourning make. 
Thus let us live and love while yet we may, 
(For death will come at some too early day,) 
And give to each our fond, confiding truth, 
Till age shall calm the transports of our youth. 
With my snug farm, my cottage home, and thee, 
Riches I scorn, and smile at poverty. 



HORACE, ODE I. 3 8. 

Oh ! how I hate, boy, hair smelling of Macassar ! 
Throw away that garland, nor, like an ass, sir, 
Searching for thistles 'mid the meadow grass, sir, 

Seek autumn's roses ; 
Only the myrtle, carelessly entwining 
My brow and yours, boy, serve thy master dining 
Where, 'neath the vine leaves in the sunset shining, 

Blest he reposes. 



EPIGRAMS. 

TO A LADY RICHLY DRESSED. 
(From the Greek. On Venus armed.) 

Ah ! vain enchantress, wherefore try 
With toilet arts that form to arm 

For conquest sweet, that men may die ? 
Each ornament but hides a charm. 

ON A PORTRAIT. 

(From the Latin.) 

The mirth is laughing in thine azure eyes, 
And dimpling o'er thy blushing cheek ; 

Come, let me share the glad surprise, 
Open those rosy lips, and speak. 

o n a c o T T a <; i;. 
(From tlic Greek.] 

Go, robber, past, and seek some richer store, 
Strong poverty defends my humble i\oov. 



ORIGINAL EPIGRAMS. 

(After the Greek manner.) 

MORTU& 

The moss has hid the name upon the stone, 
Which guards thine ashes in their sacred sleep ; 

Thou art forgotten, but by one alone, 

— That name within my heart is written deep. 

ANOTHER. 

In happy hours, when we in rapture vied, 

" My life !" " My soul !" each to the other cried: 

And now, since Fate has torn our loves apart, 
I die within thy tomb, thou livest in my heart. 

ANOTHER. 

While thou wert here, the wished for night I blest, 
When by thy side I laid me down to rest ; 



ORIGINAL EPIGRAMS. 121 

More welcome far the shade of death will be, 
When in the grave I sleep again with thee. 



I N F I D E L I. 

The star which cheered the gloomy night, 
Fades in the glow of morning light ; 
And, now that fortune gilds thy lot, 
My faithful love is all forgot ! 



IN I M A G I N E M PUELLil. 

'Tis vain, kind artist ! this was like her when 
lone sat and smiled to thee ; but then 
The likeness with the fleeting moment passed ; 
Each hour her loveliness transcends the last ! 



ON A MALICIOUS PERSON, WHO A F V E C T s II U M 1 L I T V 

Call him not meek, the sycophantic thing ! 
'Tis but the serpent's art to creep and stiii^. 
11 



122 ORIGINAL EPIGRAMS. 



(Religious.) 
INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN. 

Drink, weary pilgrim ! If athirst thou be, 
Know that the stream is gushing forth for thee ; 
Drink for Christ's sake, our painful way who trod ; 
Man gives the cup — the living water, God. 



HEBREWS IV. 9. 

O rest not now, but scatter wide the seeds 

Of faithful words, and yet more faithful deeds ; 

So thou shalt rest above eternally, 

When God the harvest fruit shall give to thee. 



HEBREWS IV. 10. 

Thou restedst not, O God, from thine employ 

Till thou beheldst thy finished work with joy ; 

Nor let me think my right to rest is won, 

Till thou shalt view my work, and say: ""Well done!" 



ORIGINAL EPIGRAMS. 123 



PHILIP PIANS II. 12, 13. 

O blessed weakness, when Christ is our strength ! 

O blessed fear, the warrant of success ! 
O blessed service, which secures at length, 

In God's good pleasure, our own happiness ! 



LUX IN TENEBRIS, TENEBRiE IN LUCE. 

'Tis not the sun, but Thou that gives me day ; 
Thy sweet compassion makes the darkness bright 
And, if Thou turn'st Thy loving smile away, 
My soul at noon is wrapped in deepest night. 



SPECIMENS OF PSALMS LITERALLY VERSIFIED. 

PSALM IX. 

I will praise thee, O my Lord, with my whole heart 

I'll praise thee, 
And show forth all thy marvellous works right loftily 

willl; 
I will rejoice in thee, for thy love doth embrace me ; 
I will sing praises to thy name, O God, the Lord most 

high ! 

Mine enemies fly fast, they fall, O Lord, before thee, 
Yea, they perish all before the glory of thy might; 
Thou hast maintained my cause, therefore do I adore 

thee, 
O thou that sittest on thy throne for ever judging right ! 



PSALM IX. 125 

Thou hast rebuked the heathen for ever and for ever, 
Their very name hath perished quite and shamefully 

in dust ; 
— O mine enemy, thy rage shall vex the righteous never, 
Upon thy grave lie those proud walls which once thou 

mad'st thy trust. 

The Lord from endless years to endless years en- 

dureth, 
He hath prepared for judgment high his throne of 

mighty power ; 
His truth full vengeance on th' ungodly soul ensureth ; 
His people shall his justice save in that tremendous 

hour. 

Thou art a refuge for the weak, before th' oppressor 

flying, 
A refuge in the darkest hour thy name, Lord, they 

make; 
Who know thy steadfast truth, and, on that truth 

relying, 
Claim thy strong help, shall surely find thou never 

dost forsake. 

ir 



126 PSALM IX. 

O sing praises to the Lord, the Lord who dwells in 

Zion, 
Declare among the people there the doings of his 

might ! 
He remembereth, in his fiercest wrath, those who his 

word rely on ; 
He forgetteth not the lowly, when they cry in sore 

affright. 

Have mercy, Lord, upon me, consider my distresses, 
The insulting rage of enemies my very soul who 

hate ; 
Deliver me even now, for hard the foe oppresses ; 
Thou canst lift up my life even from death's lowest 

gate ! 

Then thy praises will I sing to Zion's listening 

daughter, 
Exulting in thy temple high, thy saving love I'll 

sing; 
In the pit they digged for me my foes lie heaped in 

slaughter, 
Their cruel souls are taken in their own imagining. 



PSALM IX. 127 

By his judgment is Jehovah known, though no mortal 

eyes behold him ; 
The wicked perish in the way his willing feet have 

trod; 
Yea, the wicked shall be plunged in hell, where endless 

fires enfold him, 
With all the nations who forget their Maker and their 

God. 

But the holy poor, who patient trust in humble expec- 
tation, 

Shall be remembered, Lord, by thee, in some bright 
future day ; 

Their cry wilt thou regard, and answer with salvation, 

Thy mercy seems to linger now, but shall not sleep 
alway. 

Arise, and put to shame, O Lord, the heathen's boastful 

story, 
That they may win the victory who for Jehovah fight ! 
Put them in fear, O God, with their effulgent glory, 
That men may own themselves but dust, and kneel 

before thy might ! 



PSALM XIX. 

The heavens, O God, declare to man thy glory, 
The firmament thy wisdom's holy skill ; 

Day following day proclaims the wondrous story, 
Night following night repeats the lesson still. 

They speak a language known to every nation ; 

Who upward looks, shall hear their voice sublime ; 
The deep, hushed music of their adoration 

Full on the soul to utmost earth doth chime. 

There is the Sun's pavilion, whence arising, 
Like a proud bridegroom in his splendour drest, 

And with glad light the dewy earth surprising, 
A giant strong, he speeds him to the West. 



PSALM XIX. 129 

His going forth is from the Orient heaven, 
And round he hies again to reach the goal ; 

The lowest earth feels his glad heat like leaven, 
Working mysterious ends from pole to pole. 

So perfect is thy law, O God most holy, 
Converting from its sin the erring heart ; 

So doth thy truth shine on the spirit lowly, 
Making her blest with joy, e'en as Thou art. 

Pure as morn's early rays on eyes awaking, 
So beams thy word upon th' awakening mind ; 

And God's high majesty, no stain partaking 
With mortal thought, eternal is enshrined. 

More precious now, unto my soul's desire, 
Than gold, yea, finest gold, thy counsels are ; 

And, when my thoughts refreshing cheer require, 
Than comb distilling honey sweeter far. 

They are my safe companions, still forewarning 
From subtle ill, while my weak steps they guard ; 

Thee would I serve each day from early morning. 
For in thy statutes is a great reward 



130 PSALM XIX. 

Who knows his every sin ? From faults long hidden. 

O cleanse thou me ! and from presumptuous pride, 
O keep me back ! that, when the vile are chidden, 

My faithful soul, O Lord, thou may'st not chide. 

Let all my words be pure — my meditation 
Be grateful to thee, when I lowly bow, 

Giving glad homage for thy full salvation, 

My Lord, my Strength, and my Redeemer thou. 



PSALM XXIII. 

The Lord he is my shepherd, 
No want I e'er shall know ; 

In greenest mead he makes me feed, 
Where the calm waters flow. 

My soul his love restoreth, 
And me to walk doth make 

(Lest I transgress) in righteousness, 
E'en for his own name's sake. 

Yea, in death's darkest valley, 

I shall feel no dismay ; 
For there with me thou still shalt be, 

Thy rod and staff my stay. 



132 PSALM XX I II. 

My table thou preparest, 
In presence of my foes ; 

Upon my head, thou oil dost shed, 
And my cup overflows. 

Thy goodness and thy mercy 

Shall ever follow me ; 
And when I die, with thee on high 

My endless home shall be. 



PSALM CXXVI. 

When Zion from captivity Jehovah did redeem, 

The joy appeared too great for truth, we were like 

those who dream ; 
Then were our mouths with laughter filled, and from 

each grateful tongue 
Glad praises to Jehovah there, before the heathen, 

rung. 
" The Lord hath done great things for them !" with 

wonder then they cried ; 
" The Lord hath done great things for us !" exulting 

we replied. 
— Bring home thy tribes unto their land, Lord, like the 

floods that pour 
Their channels full from southern hills when summer's 

heats are o'er. 

12 



134 PSALM CXXVI. 

The faithful hearts that trust thy word, though they in 

anguish weep, 
Yet shall the harvest of their faith in happy season 

reap; 
Yea, doubtless, shall abounding sheaves their constant 

bosoms fill, 
Who sow in tears the precious seed, obedient to thy 

will. 



PSALM CXXXVIL 

By Babel's waters we sat down, a weeping company ; 
We thought of Zion, and our harps hung on the willow 

tree. 
Our masters there, with cruel taunt, required of us a 

song: 
"One of the songs," the spoiler cried, "to Zion that 

belong." 
God of our fathers ! how can we find either voice or 

hand 
For Judah's lofty minstrelsy, in a far foreign land . ; 
Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! if, thus forgetting thee, 
I wake for thine insulting foes thy sacred melody, 
Oh ! may my hand forget its skill to strike the tuneful 

string, 
My palsied tongue with horror shrink, though all 

around me sing ! 



136 PSALM CXXXVI1. 

Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! my joy all joys above, 
Thine is my hand, my harp, my voice, my heart's un- 
bounded love. 
— Jehovah ! thou wilt not forget, how in that dreadful 

day, 
The raging hosts of Edom howled like wolves above 

their prey : 
"Rase, rase their walls unto the dust!" — Oh God! 

requite to them 
The ruin of our heritage, thine own Jerusalem ! 
Yes, Babylon ! the day shall come, proud as thy 

triumphs shine 
Above the tribes of Israel now, our ruin will be 

thine ; 
And happy he, who will not spare thy children in thy 

fall, 
But dash thy last remaining babe against thy prostrate 

wall ! 



TRANSLATION. 

A CHAUNT OF THE EARLY CHRISTIANS AT THE 
LIGHTING OF THE EVENING LAMF. 

Usher, Diatr. de Symbolis, p. 35. 

Light of the immortal Father's glory, 

Joyous, sacred, heavenly, blest, 
Jesus Christ, we bow before thee, 

As the sunlight leaves the west. 
We give thee homage, grateful, lowly. 

That the evening light we see, 
Father, Son, and Spirit Holy, 

Holy, Holy, Holy Three. 

Worthy art Thou worlds unending, 

Son of God, the life and light, 
To receive a praise transcend hag 

All created worth and mighl ; 
L2* 



138 TRANSLATION. 

Soon the star, now shining o'er us, 
All the earth shall joyful see ; 

And all tongues shall swell the chorus 
Holy, Holy, Holy Three. 



IF I ONLY HAVE THEE. 

(FROM THE GERMAN OF NOVALIS.) 

If I only have Thee, 
If only mine thou art, 
And to the grave 
Thy power to save 
Upholds my faithful heart ; 
Naught can then my soul annoy, 
Lost in worship, love, and joy. 

If I only have Thee, 
I gladly all forsake. 
To follow on 
Where thou hast gone, 
My pilgrim staff I take ; 
Leaving other men to stray 
In the bright, broad, crowded way. 



140 IF I ONLY HAVE THEE. 

If I only have Thee, 
If only Thou art near, 
In sweet repose 
My eyes shall close, 
Nor Death's dark shadow fear ; 
And thy heart's flood through my breast. 
Gently charm my soul to rest. 

If I only have Thee, 
All the world is mine ; 
Like those who gaze 
Upon the rays 
That from thy glory shine, 
Rapt in holy thought of Thee, 
Earth can have no gloom for me. 

Where I only have Thee 
Is my fatherland ; 
For everywhere 
The gifts I share 
From thy wide-spreading hand ; 
And in all my human kind, 
Long-lost brothers dear I find. 



IT IS NOT DEATH TO DIE. 

(FROM THE FRENCH.) 

It is not death to die, 

To leave this weary road, 
And, midst the brotherhood on high, 

To be at home with God. 

It is not death to close 

The eye long dimmed by tears, 
And wake in glorious repose, 

To spend eternal years. 

It is not death to bear 

The wrench that sets us free 

From dungeon-chain, to breathe the air 
Of boundless liberty. 



142 IT IS NOT DEATH TO DIE. 

It is not death to fling 

Aside this sinful dust, 
And rise on strong, exulting wing, 

To live among the just. 

Jesus, thou Prince of Life, 
Thy chosen cannot die ! 

Like Thee, they conquer in the strife, 
To reign with Thee on high. 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

FOR SUNDAY SCHOOL CHILDREN. 

The Almighty Spirit to a poor and humble Virgin 

came, 
With promise that her child should bear Immanuel's 

mystic name ; 
And the blessed mother, full of joy, bowed down her 

pious head : 
" Behold the handmaid of the Lord, and do as thou 

hast said." 

Saviour, by thy Spirit Holy, 
Make us like her, meek and lowly ! 

The hour of grace was fully come, and humble shep- 
herds lay 

On Bethlehem's plains, with pious talk, watching until 
the day ; 



144 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

When heavenly glory shone around, far brighter than 

the morn, 
And radiant angels sang : "To you the Saviour Lord 
is born !" 

Saviour, by thy Spirit Holy, 

Make us like them, meek and lowly ! 



Within a manger's humble bed, the Lord of Glory 

slept, 
And the humble mother's yearning heart blest vigil 

o'er him kept ; 
And humble shepherds knelt around, with wondering 

faith, to see 
Upon an infant's feeble brow enstamped Divinity. 
Saviour, by thy Spirit Holy, 
Make us like Thee, meek and lowly ! 



In all thy riper years, O Christ ! though armed with 

power Divine, 
The gentle meekness of the poor and humble heart 

was thine ; 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 145 

And now, upon thy lofty throne, so smiles thy mercy 

mild, 
That saints and angels worship thee, as God's most 
Holy Child* 

Saviour, by thy Spirit Holy, 
Keep us like thee, meek and lowly. 

* Acts iv. 22. 



13 



ANOTHER. 

Joy and gladness ! joy and gladness ! 

Oh ! happy day ! 
Ev'ry thought of sin and sadness 

Chase, chase away. 
Heard ye not the angels telling, 
Christ the Lord of might excelling, 
On the earth with man is dwelling, 

Clad in our clay ? 

With the shepherd-throng around him 

Haste we to bow ; 
By the angel's sign they found him, 

We know him now ; 
New-born babe of houseless stranger, 
Cradled low in Bethlehem's manger, 
Saviour from our sin and danger, 
Jesus, 'tis thou ! 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 147 

God of life, in mortal weakness, 

Hail, Virgin-born ! 
Infinite in lowly meekness, 

Thou wilt not scorn, 
Though all Heaven is singing o'er thee, 
And gray wisdom bows before thee, 
When our youthful hearts adore thee, 
This holy morn. 

Son of Mary, (blessed mother !) 

Thy love we claim ; 

Son of God, our elder brother, 

(O gentle name!) 

To thy Father's throne ascended, 

With thine own His glory blended, 

Thou art, all thy trials ended, 

Ever the same. 

Thou wert born to tears and sorrows, 

Pilgrim divine ; 
Watchful nights and weary morrows, 

Brother, were thine : 



148 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

By thy fight with strong temptation, 

By thy cup of tribulation, 

Oh ! thou God of our salvation, 

With mercy shine ! 

In thy holy footsteps treading 

Guide, lest we stray ; 

From thy word of promise shedding 
Light on our way ; 

Never leave us nor forsake us, 

Like thyself in mercy make us, 

And at last to glory take us, 

Jesus, we pray. 



ANOTHER. 

Full many a year has sped, 
Since, round his cradle-bed, 

The shepherd- throng 
Hailed, Lord, the Child Divine, 
Blessed Mary's Son and Thine, 
Led by the starry sign 

And angel's song. 

No heavenly song we hear, 
Nor wondrous signs appear, 

This holy morn ; 
But in our faith we see, 
Jesus-Jehovah, thee, 
On thy sweet mother's knee, 

A babe nc\\-l>orn. 
L8* 



150 CHRISTMAS HYMJS. 

And in thy book of truth, 
Through infancy and youth, 

We trace thy way. 
Well may thy praise be sung, 
By every youthful tongue, 
O Saviour of the young, 

On this glad day ! 

Sad was thy gentle life, 
Strong was thy constant strife, 

Our souls to save ; 
By all our sins distrest, 
Nor home hadst thou, nor rest, 
E'en from thy mother's breast 

To the dark grave. 

O, by the faithful love 

That brought thee from above, 

Our paths to tread, 
Guide thou our simple youth 
In ways of perfect truth, 
And from thy promise sooth 

Rich comfort shed. 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 151 

O, by thy death of shame, 
And thy triumphant name 

Of boundless power, 
So may we die to sin, 
And a new life within 
Heaven's own bright day begin, 

From this good hour. 

Hosanna to our King ! 
Hosanna high we sing, 

Hail, hail, O Christ ! 
To Him, who in the name 
Of God- Jehovah came, 
Let every heart proclaim : 

Hosanna highest ! 



ANOTHER. 

We come, we come, with loud acclaim, 
To sing the praise of Jesus' name ; 
And make the vaulted temple ring 
With loud hosannahs to our King. 
With thrilling pulse and smiling face, 
We gather round the throne of grace 
And lowly bend to offer there, 
From infant lips, our Christmas prayer. 
To Him who slept on Mary's knee, 
A gentle child, as young as we. 

We come, we come, the song to swell, 
To Him who loved our world so well, 
That, stooping from his Father's throne, 
He died, to claim it as his own. 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 153 

And now the holy aisles we fill, 

Yet youthful bands are gathering still ; 

O, thus may we in heaven above, 

Unite in praises and in love ; 

While happy angels fill their home 

With joyful cry : " They come, they come !" 



HYMN 

FOR THE OPENING OF THE ORPHAN ASYLUM CHAPEL, 
BLOOMINGDALE, NEW YORK. 

BY THE CONGREGATION. 

Thine ancient temple, Lord, is dust ; 

But Thou hast sworn to be 
Wherever meet, in pious trust, 

True hearts to worship thee ; 

And we, the orphan's home to bless, 

In lowly faith draw near ; 
Come, Father of the fatherless, 

And make thy dwelling here. 

At op'ning morn, and closing eve, 
And Sabbath's holy time, 



HYMN. 155 

Do thou the grateful praise receive, 
Their artless voices chime. 

And may thy lamp of love, whose light 

Shone on young Samuel's bed, 
Throughout this house each silent night 

Its tranquil blessing shed. 

BY THE CHILDREN. 

Here may we listen to the call 

Thine infant prophet heard, 
Till every heart is thine, and all 

Delight to know thy word. 

And never may our hearts forget, 

Though far our feet may roam, 
The God around whose shrine we met, 

Within our Orphan Home. 

Till all who learn hosannahs here, 

To Christ the Saviour's love, 
Shall in our Father's house appear, 

And sing his praise above. 



HYMN FOR EASTER. 

'Tis He ! 'tis He ! I know him now, 
By the red scars upon his brow, 
His wounded hands, and feet, and side, 
My Lord ! my God ! the Crucified ! 

Those hands have rolled the stone away ; 
Those feet have trod the path to-day ; 
And round that brow triumphant shine 
The rays of majesty divine. 

0, from those hands uplifted, shed 
Thy blessing on my fainting head ; 
And, as I clasp those feet, impart 
The love that gushed from out thy heart ! 



HYMN FOR EASTER. 157 

Thy death upon the cross be mine, 
My life from mortal sin, be thine, 
And mine the way thy feet have trod, 
To reign in heaven with thee, my God. 



14 



PRAYER FOR THE SPIRIT 

O for the happy hour 
When God will hear our cry, 

And send, with a reviving power, 
His Spirit from on high ! 

We meet r we sing, we pray, 

We listen to the Word, 
In vain — we see no cheering ray, 

No cheering voice is heard. 

Our prayers are faint and dull, 

And languid all our songs, 
Where once with joy our hearts were full, 

And rapture tuned our tongues. 



PRAYER FOR THE SPIRIT. 159 

While many crowd thy house, 

How few around thy board 
Meet to record their solemn vows, 

And bless thee as their Lord ? 

Thou, Thou alone canst give 

Thy Gospel sure success, 
And bid the dying sinner live 

Anew in holiness. 

Come, with thy power divine, 

Spirit of life and love ; 
Then shall our people all be thine, 

Our church like that above. 



LINES WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. 

" Assument pennas sicut aquilae." 

Why, trembling soul ! such strange affright 
To quit a toil-worn frame like this ; 

Nor joy to stretch thy wings of light, 
And seek a higher realm of bliss ? 

Why thus imprisoned love to dwell 

Where darkness shrouds thy longing eye, 

When all beyond the narrow cell 
Is light and hope and liberty ? 

How oft thy cry : O for the hour 

When some strong hand would set me free ! 
— Lo, thy Deliverer ! who hath power 

O'er death and thy captivity. 



LINES WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. 161 

heed not then the sick'ning pain, 

Nor faint, though sight and sense grow dim ; 
'Tis but the wrench that breaks thy chain 
From fettered wing and weary limb. 

1 feel thee now, my rising soul, 

Like early lark I singing soar, 
And, free from every base control, 
I stoop to earth and sin no more. 



14* 



A PRAYER. 



1 CORINTHIANS, XIII. 



Father, on my bended knee, 

Hear me ask a boon from thee : 

Give me, if thou wilt, the charm 
Of eloquence, thy truth to arm, 
That the sinful soul may tremble, 
And the vile no more dissemble ; 
Touch my lips with sacred fire, 
Such as kindles Heaven's choir 
When Cherubim and Seraphim 
Swell with saints th' immortal hymn; 
Give me strong prophetic sight 
To read all thy mysteries right ; 
Faith to make the mountain yield 
Easy path as meadow field ; 



A PRAYER. 163 

— Grant me, if Thou wilt, all these, 
Yet not all my heart can ease, 
If Thou dost not grant to me 
Gentle, lowly Charity ; 
Without this, they all shall tell 
Like tinkling cymbal, empty bell. 

Had I riches, and a heart 
All in mercy to impart ; 
Courage strong to yield my breath 
In a martyr's fiery death ; 
Little would they profit me 
Without gentle Charity. 
Charity that beareth long, 
Though I suffer cruel wrong ; 
To the erring always kind ; 
To my own worth always blind ; 
Glad of others' happy lot, 
In his profit mine forgot ; 
Vaunting not superior good, 
Never proud, nor harsh, nor rude ; 
Yielding, rather far than light, 
Ev'n my due with meek delight ; 



164 A PRAYER. 

Slowly stirred to words of blame, 
Slowly seeing others' shame ; 
'Neath my trials never grieving ; 
All a brother's praise believing ; 
Ever hoping for the best, 
And enduring all the rest ; 
— This is what I ask from Thee, 
Gentle, lowly Charity. 

Little now at best we know, 
Though with prophet's fire we glow 
But when Thou shalt radiant come, 
And reveal the mighty sum, 
We shall in the glory see 
Only gentle Charity. 

When I was a little child, 
Foolish were my words and wild ; 
Feebly learned I what was taught, 
Feebly then of wisdom thought ; 
Now, Lord, let my manhood be 
Strong in gentle Charity. 



A PRA7ER. 165 

Dim, as through a shadowed glass, 
Now we watch thy glories pass ; 
But when, in thy close embrace, 
Thou shalt clasp me face to face, 
I shall all thy greatness see, 
As Thou now dost look on me. 

Still within my heart shall rest, 
Each a welcome, cheerful guest, 
Sent to bless me from above, 
Faith, and Hope, and holy Love ; 
But the chiefest place shall be, 
Thine, sweet, gentle Charity ! 



ALONE, YET NOT ALONE." 

JOHN XVI. 3 2. 

The desert flower afar may bloom, 
Where foot of man ne'er trod ; 

Yet gratefully its soft perfume 
Ascendeth up to God ; 

And He will own the offering too, 

And fill its cup with living dew. 

Alone may sing the forest-bird, 

Afar from human ear, 
Yet there he singe th not unheard, 

For God is listening near ; 
And He will cheer the warbler's breast 
With pleasant food and quiet rest. 



"ALONE, YET NOT ALONE." 167 

Thus, when before His gracious throne, 

With grateful praise I bend, 
I feel I am not all alone, 

For God is still my friend ; 
And humble though my love may be, 
He answereth it with love to me. 

Each morn will bring a promise pure 

As dew to desert flower, 
Each eve a rest as calm and sure 

As birds in forest bower ; 
Till death shall free my earth-bound wing, 
And bear me heavenward as I sing. 



SAILOR'S HYMN. 

Tossed upon life's raging billow, 

Sweet it is, O Lord, to know 
Thou hast pressed a sailor's pillow, 

And canst feel a sailor's wo, 
Never slumbering, never sleeping, 

Though the night be dark and drear, 
Thou the faithful watch art keeping — 

" All, all's well !" thy constant cheer. 

And, though loud the wind is howling, 

Fierce though flash the lightnings red, 
Darkly though the storm-cloud's scowling 

O'er the sailor's anxious head, 
Thou canst calm the raging ocean, 

All its noise and tumult still, 
Hush the billow's wild commotion, 

At the bidding of thy will. 



SAILOR'S HYMN. 169 

Thus my heart the hope will cherish, 

"While to Heav'n I lift mine eye, 
Thou wilt save me ere I perish, 

Thou wilt hear me when I cry ; 
And, though mast and sail be riven, 

Life's short voyage will soon be o'er ; 
Safely moored in Heav'n' s wide haven, 

Storms and tempests vex no more. 



15 



THE DEPARTING MISSIONARY. 

Farewell to thee, brother ! "We meet but to part, 
And sorrow is struggling with joy in each heart ; 
There is grief — but there's hope, all its anguish to quell ; 
The Master goes with thee — Farewell ! oh, farewell ! 

Farewell ! Thou art leaving the home of thy youth, 
The friends of thy God, and the temples of truth, 
For the land where is heard no sweet Sabbath bell ; 
Yet the Master goes with thee — Farewell ! oh, farewell ! 

Farewell ! for thou treadest the path that He trod ; 
His God is thy Father, His Father thy God ; 
And if ever with doubtings thy bosom shall swell, 
Remember He's with thee — Farewell ! oh, farewell ! 



MISSIONARY HYMN. 171 

Farewell ! and God speed thee, glad tidings to bear, 
To the desolate isles in their night of despair ; 
On the sea, on the shore, all the promises tell, 
His wings shall enfold thee. Farewell ! oh, farewell ! 

Farewell ! but in spirit we often shall meet 
(Though the ocean divide us) at one mercy-seat ; 
And above, ne'er to part, but for ever to dwell 
With the Master in glory — Till then, oh ! farewell ! 



THE JOY OF ANGELS. 

There's joy before the face of God, 
While, from th' eternal throne, 

Unwonted rapture streams abroad, 
And o'er all heaven hath shone. 

The seraphim to cherubim 

With glad responses call, 
And loud rejoice, with harp and hymn, 

Angel, archangel, all. 

And loftily the choral strain 

Swells through the skies around : 

" A soul once dead now lives again ! 
A sinner lost is found!" 

Not such their joy, when o'er the birth 
Of glorious worlds they sung ; 



THE JOY OF ANGELS. 173 

Or when the Almighty rolled the earth 
The tuneful spheres among. 

Not thus they hailed the starry sign, 

When Bethlehem's lowly King 
Did round his majesty divine 

Man's humble nature fling. 

Before Jehovah's burning breath, 

Those orbs shall pass away ; 
And Jesus stooped to shame and death, 

When He assumed our clay. 

But while eternity shall roll 

Its ceaseless years for aye, 
Shall shine that new-created soul, 

With ever-waxing ray ; 

And Jesus to his blood-bought throne 

Shall lift his chosen high, 
Radiant in glory all his own, 

The jewels of the sky. 
15* 



MY MEAT IS TO DO THE WILL OF 
HIM THAT SENT ME." 

JOHN IV. 34. 

Upon the well by Sychar's gate, 
At burning noon, the Saviour sate, 
Athirst and hungry, from the way 
His feet had trod since early day ; 
The Twelve had gone to seek for food, 
And left him in his solitude. 

They come and spread before him there, 
With faithful haste, the pilgrim fare, 
And gently bid him : " Master, eat !" 
But God had sent him better meat, 
And there is on his gentle brow, 
Nor weariness nor faintness now. 



MY MEAT. 175 

For while they sought the market-place, 
His words had won a soul to grace ; 
And when He set that sinner free 
From bonds of guilt and infamy, 
His heart grew strong with joy divine, 
More than the strength of bread and wine. 

So, Christian, when thy faith is faint, 
Amidst the toils that throng the saint, 
Ask God that thou may'st peace impart 
Unto some other human heart ; 
And thou thy Master's joy shalt share, 
E'en while His cross thy shoulders bear. 



CHRIST WASHING THE DISCIPLES 

FEET. 



JOHN XIII. 1-15. 



O ! blessed Jesus ! when I see thee bending, 
Girt as a servant, at thy servants' feet, 

Love, lowliness, and might, in zeal all blending, 
To wash their dust away, and make them meet 

To share thy feast, I know not t' adore, 

Whether thy humbleness or glory more. 

Conscious thou art of that dread hour impending, 
When thou must hang in anguish on the tree ; 

Yet, as from the beginning, to the ending 
Of thy sad life, thine own are dear to thee, — 

And thou wilt prove to them, ere thou dost part, 

Th' untold love which fills thy faithful heart. 



CHRIST WASHING THE DISCIPLES' FEET. 177 

The day too is at hand, when, far ascending, 
Thy human brow the crown of God shall wear, 

Ten thousand saints and radiant ones attending, 
To do thy will and bow in homage there ; 

But thou dost pledge, to guard thy church from ill, 

Or bless with good, thyself a servant still. 

Meek Jesus ! to my soul thy spirit lending, 
Teach me to live, like thee, in lowly love ; 

With humblest service all thy saints befriending, 
Until I serve before thy throne above — 

Yes ! serving e'en my foes, for thou didst seek 

The feet of Judas, in thy service meek. 

Daily my pilgrim feet, as homeward wending 
My weary way, are sadly stained with sin ; 

Daily do thou, thy precious grace expending. 
Wash me all clean without and clean within, 

And* make me fit to have a part with thee 

And thine, at last, in heaven's festivity. 

O blessed name of Servant! comprehending 
Man's highest honour in his humblest name ; 



178 CHRIST WASHING THE DISCIPLES' FEET. 

For thou, God's Christ, that office recommending, 
The throne of mighty power didst truly claim ; 
He who would rise like Thee, like Thee must owe 
His glory only to his stooping low. 



LUTHER. 

O ! that the soul of Luther 

Were on the earth again ! 
The mighty soul, whose mightier faith 

Burst ancient error's chain ; 

And flashed the rays of God's own word 
Through superstition's night, 

Till the church of God, that sleeping lay, 
Awoke in Christ's own light ! 

For there are banded traitors strong, 
Who fain would round us cast 

The fetters that our fathers wore, 
In those dark ages past. 



180 LUTHER. 

" The church ! the church !" they loudly boast ; 

" The cross ! the cross !" they cry ; 
But 'tis not God's pure church they love, 

Nor the Cross of Calvary ! 

They would knot again the painful scourge, 

And fire the martyr's pile ; 
And the simple poor of God's free grace, 

With mystic words, beguile. 

They would tear the Bible from our hearts, 

And bid us blindly turn 
From the holy page, and the Spirit's power, 

At the feet of men to learn. 

They darken e'en the house of prayer 

With Gothic shadows dim, 
Lest the Sun of truth and righteousness 

Should shine on us from Him. 

They open lying legends old, 
And claim their right to rule, 



LUTHER. 181 

Through lines of tyrant-prelates long, 
From the meek Apostles' school. 

They stand between us and our God, 

In their robes of bigot-pride. 
And swear that none, who serve not them, 

Shall serve the Crucified. 

O ! that the soul of Luther 

Were on the earth once more ; 
And his mighty faith in the words of truth, 

Those floods of light to pour ! 

For the church his holy zeal once led 

From worse than Egypt free, 
Is wandering from The Glory back 

To foul captivity ! 



1G 



SABBATH EVENING. 

"Te veniente die — Te decedente require" 

Sweet was the Sabbath morn ; the light 

Shone out with purer rays, 
Than ever chase the lingering night 

From sin's most pompous days. 

Sweet was our waking thought, — that He, 

Who Eden's Sabbath blest, 
Gave to our souls this day, that we 

Might enter to his rest. 

Sweet was the voice of Sabbath bell, 
Clear-ringing through the air, 

When on our waiting ears it fell, 
A call to praise and prayer. 



SABBATH EVENING. 183 

Sweet was the slow, yet cheerful walk 

With Christian company, 
Who loved of Jesus' grace to talk, 

And longed his power to see. 

In God's own house, how passing sweet 
Where God's own praise is heard, 

And saints are bowing at his feet 
To hear his holy word ! 

But now hath set the Sabbath sun, 

And fallen the evening shade ; 
The pleasant work is well nigh done, 

The Sabbath pleasant made. 

Yet sweetly, midst the holy calm, 

The memory of delight 
Sheds on the soul a blessed balm, 

Like fragrant dews by night. 

The echo of the praise is still 
Ling'ring upon the ear ; 



184 SABBATH EVENING. 

And through our weekly journey will 
Our pilgrim spirits cheer. 

O when shall that fair morning break, 
Whose light will ne'er grow dim ; 

And the whole Church in glory wake 
The everlasting hymn ? 



THE END 



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